


Snow Storm in August

by TriDom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Were!Peter, were!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 19:04:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4677869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriDom/pseuds/TriDom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris comes home from a business trip and finds the living room covered in white.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Storm in August

**Author's Note:**

> From a set of established relationship AUs that’s been floating around on Tumblr. 
> 
> The prompt was, “You went on a business trip and left me at home and I kind of destroyed the house.”
> 
> I thought it had Stetopher written all over it, so… here it is. Were!Stiles and Were!Peter.

Chris walked into the house passed four in the morning. He breathed out the irritation of dealing with the airport and the long drive home, idiotic drivers and delays, as he took off his bag and laid it by the hall table. Then he heard the scratch of nails on the wood floors of the upper hall then the thump, thump as Stiles pelted down the stairs.  

Chris braced himself right before Stiles skidded around the corner and slammed all two-hundred and fifty pounds into him.

“I know. I’m happy to see you too,” Chris said, scratching down into Stiles’s thickly furred neck and behind his ears. Then he frowned and plucked a piece of fluff from the corner of Stiles’s mouth. “What did you get in to?”

Stiles laid back his ears and jumped down. He wagged his tail a little bit before he turned and ran back up the stairs.

“Stiles,” Chris called after him as he walked around the corner.

Then he saw the living room.

It looked like a snow storm had slammed them. White fluff covered everything. It floated down from the ceiling fan, like flakes still falling. It took him a moment to see the shreds of fabric mixed with it, the blue, green, and gray of the throw pillows and multiple of the couch cushions.

“Stiles! Peter!” Chris yelled up the stairs.

When neither of them answered, Chris rubbed into his closed eyes, breathing out through his nose.

“I’m going to kill them,” he said under his breath before he tried to roll the tension from his shoulders.

He started up the stairs, following a trail of cotton fluff and shreds of fabric, and random wood shards down the hall like a breadcrumb path. His office door was open, two more pillows were destroyed in there, along with something plastic that looked like his Bluetooth speaker, and one of his end tables.

He followed the trail farther and stepped into the bedroom. The last piece of fluff led to Stiles’s tail that stuck beneath the bed. It swept over the floor when the door creaked.

“Stiles, come here.”

“Leave him alone,” Peter said, laying naked on the bed.

Stiles moved farther under the bed, thumping against the frame and the floor as he shoved his too big body into the space. Then he crawled out of the other side and jumped onto the bed, curling up beside Peter and tapping his tail on the bed as he stared at Chris, making his dark eyes larger.

“How can you be mean to him, Christopher?” Peter asked tiredly, rolling over so Stiles could lay his head on his chest. He buried his fingers in Stiles’s fur. “He’s so sweet.”

“He destroyed the house,” Chris said. Then looked at Stiles. “You destroyed the house. What were you-.”

“No, shh. Come here, Chris,” Peter said, holding out his arm and moving his fingers. “Come here.”

Chris stared at Stiles before Stiles wiggled slightly towards him, submission and apology written in every line of his body. He would’ve bought it, if Stiles didn’t pull that every time he was in wolf form and fucked up.

“No, clothes off,” Peter said as Chris stepped closer.

Chris yanked off his shirt then pushed out of his jeans before he laid on the bed. Peter reached towards him blindly then pulled him close. Chris frowned at Stiles, but Stiles wormed closer, treated Peter’s body like a barricade until he could barely lick Chris’s fingers.  

Chris rolled his eyes and scratched his fingers into the down softness of the fur behind Stiles’s ear.

“You’re soft with him,” Peter said.

Chris looked up, then frowned again before reaching up to pluck a piece of fluff from between Peter’s teeth.

“Seriously,” he said.

Peter smiled then covered Chris’s mouth with his hand when he started to complain. “You left us alone. It’s all your fault.”

“You are two adult men,” Chris said, knocking his hand away.

“Clearly we aren’t,” Peter said, pressing his face down into Stiles’s fur. “We are incompetents that you can’t ever leave to our own devices again. We might just burn the house down.”

“Really?”

“Mhm, we’re children,” Peter said.

“You’re both ridiculous,” Chris said flatly. “The couch is wrecked, my table, my speaker, why the hell did you break my speaker?”

“You left it on and it was buzzing,” Peter said. “We needed to get a new couch anyway, that table was hideous, and now we get to redecorate.”

“So turn the speaker off,” Chris said irritably.

“We had already shifted. That’s just a headache.”

“Jesus Christ,” Chris said, starting to get back up.

“No, no,” Peter said, turning on his side and wrapping his arms around him. He rubbed his nose against the back of his neck. “Was your trip bad? You’re being moody.”

“Are you kidding?”

Then he heard a low groan, the dull snapping of bones that ended with a gasp before he felt Stiles’s hand on his side, right below Peter’s.

“Sorry,” Stiles said, with his voice muffled, like he was speaking against Peter. “We’ll clean it up.”

Then the bed shifted and Stiles climbed over both of them to lay in front of Chris, sandwiching him between both of their abnormally warm bodies.

“We just missed you a lot,” Stiles said, kissing his cheek then his mouth.

“Mhm,” Peter said, rubbing his lips over Chris’s shoulder. “Time isn’t the same when you can’t read clocks. It seemed like you had been gone forever.”

“I was gone five days,” Chris said, looking down in Stiles’s dark brown eyes.

Stiles’s frowned, a small dimple pitting his cheek beneath one of his moles. “It felt a lot longer than that.”

His hair was ruffled and more fluff was stuck in the front. Chris carded his fingers through it and shook it out. “We were overdue for some changes, I guess.”

“When he says he’s sorry, you melt, when I do-,” Peter began.

“You didn’t say sorry,” Chris said.

Stiles smiled and Peter rumbled against his back, squeezing him back closer. They were still in the last stages of the cycle, tactile and sensitive as the pushed their faces into him, like they couldn’t get close enough. He felt Peter or Stiles’s tongue occasionally with their hot breath as they moved closer and closer, wallowing him in their smells as the frustration and homesickness ebbed away. He pushed away any thought of the disaster that waited for them in the morning and pulled the comforter over his overgrown mutt husbands, only rolling his eyes slightly when his fingers slipped into a huge damp tooth hole in the fabric, mentally adding it to the growing list of things to replace.


End file.
